Machine Guns Ready to Go
by Town of ice
Summary: If Quinn Fabray can take down a street full of zombies, then she can sure as hell keep Rachel Berry at bay.


"Zombies."

Quinn Fabray turned her head, raising an eyebrow.

"I just went out there." said Puckerman, closing the door tightly behind him, "Zombies. Fucking... fucking Zombies."

"Zombies?" breathed Brittany from behind Quinn. She rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the bed.

"Don't be an idiot, Noah." She hissed, leaning to peer out the door. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She stared at him.

"There is a street full of what I thought was a riot." he told her quietly. He was white as a ghost from his collar to his mohawk. "It's not. I don't know what it is but it looks a lot like 'Day of Decay 3' out there."

Quinn rolled her eyes, jerking her arm away. She moved toward the window and pushed the curtain aside and peered out.

There was a long moment of stunned silence.

Finally Santana spoke from behind her. "Holy goddamn shit."

And so Puckerman was right.

***

It was four months ago that Puckerman came into their hotel room white as a sheet, bolted the door and told them about a street full of hungry maneaters (in the literal sense).

It was three months ago that Tina Cohen-Chang went missing and just a day sooner that Mike Chang left in the night to find her. Nobody had seen them since.

It was two months and four days ago that Santana got her leg caught in a collapsing elevator. They got it out, but Santana was unconscious by that point and her leg was very clearly broken.

It was one month and two weeks ago that Sam and Finn broke through a back window of a Broadway stage to find Mr Shue. He wasn't there but four very angry military dogs were. Sam got a bite in the back of his leg that proved nearly impossible to stop the bleeding. They did, however. They always did.

Three weeks ago Quinn shot an elderly, decrepid, white-pupilled man in the head twice because he got a particular appetite for what was hidden inside their building. It was after that and the time she back-kicked a zombified political figure in the throat that made them all realize that Quinn Fabray was made of harder stuff than anyone else was. Except maybe Brittany, who spent three hours a day with a sniper, picking off the zombies one by one.

But everybody was a little frightened of her, so they just let her be.

***

"Does it still hurt?"

"Not really. When it got infected that time, it did. It's fine now, though."

Quinn had just about had it with everyone. It was nearly impossible to get sleep, what with Brittany humming on the balcony constantly, Santana crying as much as she did, Sam and Mercedes constantly sweet-talking and Kurt's distant attitude. She couldn't really blame Santana, though. Santana had really gotten the worst of it.

"I'm sure he's okay, Kurt." she heard Puck say softly, "This'll all blow over and we can go back home."

She turned over on her makeshift bed on the floor. Puck gave her a sad nod. He had his arm around Kurt's shoulders, who was leaning against his pulled-up knees, face hidden. She felt a stab of despair for the smallest boy. She knew better. It wouldn't blow over. She hadn't given it much thought. She just figured they'd keep going until they were dead or everyone else was.

She knew one thing, though. She'd die before becoming one of them.

Trying to suppress a shudder, she flipped back around, staring at Finn's feet. She looked up. "Yes, Finn?"

He looked down with conflicted eyes. She sighed and sat up. "What's the matter?"

"You think my mom's okay?"

Fifth time today, she could have sworn. *No, Finn.* she wanted to say, *I think your mom is a flesh-eating monster or dead by now.* But she couldn't.

She pressed her hand onto Finn's leg, squeezing gently. "Yeah." She said quietly, afraid of her voice betraying her, "I think she's okay."

Finn smiled a small smile and leant back, sitting on the bed. She sighed. Feelings messed shit up. That was the way it was. Better to have none.

"Somebody give me a gun." Hissed Brittany frantically from the balcony, "Somebody gimme' a gun!"

There were clanking sounds and then a pause. Brittany whistled a little tune and then -

Bang!

A shot went off. She laughed quietly.

One thing about Brittany S. Pierce - she never missed.

"Dang, she is messed up." remarked Mercedes.

"She's smart." snapped Santana from the other bed, "We should all be doing that! Trying to kill them all!"

"Where's the strategy?" said Lauren Zizes coolly from the darker end of the room, "No game with no strategy."

Quinn sighed and gave in. She sat up, squinting in the darkness. They should be sleeping. Those bastards are less active at night. That was evident through the extreme decrease in Brittany's shots. Being asleep during daylight hours was just not safe.

"I don't care about strategy." said Santana, her voice serious and frightening, the type of tone that comes with bared fangs and claws, "We've been strategizing and look where that got us. Sam's maimed, I'm almost as handicapped as Abramsies over there, maybe even more so because I can't walk and I think my... my damn leg is settling crooked and Cohen-Chang-Chang is completely MIA and I'm going to die having done nothing, having never even come -"

She stopped then, frustrated tears streaming down her face. Brittany had pulled back from her gun and was gazing at Santana full of sorrow. Kurt got up toward Santana. He sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"That's enough bullshit, I think." Quinn growled. The room was quiet. "Now, in case you haven't noticed, now is a good time to be sleeping. So unless you're Brittany, I'd get your sorry asses in bed or couch or whatever, but asleep."

She glared around at the room. Mercedes patted Sam on the leg with a small smile and moved toward the other side of the bed where she was sleeping. Sam was okay to share the double bed, whereas Santana's leg was too fragile. However, Quinn noticed Brittany or Kurt sitting beside the bed every night, one of their hands clasped into hers.

Brittany whistled a high-pitched tune that sounded like a bird and let off another shot. She tapped her feet on the floor excitedly. Another successful shot.

Puckerman leaned onto the couch, hands over his face. Finn laid his head on the armrest and closed his eyes. Lauren had her back against the far wall, leaning her head against her knees. She could be sleeping already. Nothing distracted that girl. Artie didn't leave his chair in case of a quick getaway. Santana had her head in her hands, silent. Kurt leaned his head on her shoulder, squeezing her shoulder tightly.

About ten minutes in, Rachel Berry moved around the bed where she slept and onto Quinn's. She crawled under the thin blanket and tangled her bare legs with Quinn's. She held her breath, biting her lip. Reaching down, she wove her fingers into Rachel's nervously.

One week ago, that ritual started. 


End file.
